The Hanging Rose
by Hades the Facile
Summary: A mass breakout of hangings ensues London and the team of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson become quickly involved. Meanwhile, Watson starts having feeling for a certain colleague of his. RATED M for later chapters. Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1: Vanilla Extract

****If you are re-reading this I only made minor changes, adding minor details. If you'd like to read it go ahead but it isn't necessary.****

****-Hades****

****The Hanging Rose-Chapter 1:Vanilla Extract****

The flat off 221b Baker Street was in its usual state of untidiness, pots and pans littered the counter tops of the small kitchen and boxes filled with files were scattered about the floor in the living quarters. Watson was plopped down in a comfy space on the new addition to the flat, a dark blue two person couch. Plain in its appeal but comfy in its touch, Watson felt at ease in his position. Although, his mind being jumbled with thoughts, he could not find the correct words to write his blog. He sighed closing the lid, accepting defeat. The silence that ensued after got to John. __Wheres Sherlock?__

"Sherlock?" He announced. There was no answer.

"Sherlock are you here?" still no reply. His flat mate had developed a recent habit of locking himself in his room for long periods of time and not contacting the outside world of days on end. Although that wasn't shocking to John. He had grown use to the strange ways of Sherlock Holmes.

He placed his laptop on the floor just below, got his cane and headed down the stairs to locate Mrs. Hudson. _Maybe she would have some idea as to where Sherlock has gone off to. _He thought.

"Mrs. Hudson." he exclaimed, limping down the stairs.

"Oh Mr. Watson, oh Mr. Watson." said a small and frail voice. John turned to see Mrs. Hudson hurrying down the stairs as quickly as her small legs could carry her. Her face contained that of a worried mother; and in some ways she may have thought she was. She cared for Sherlock and John deeply almost like the two sons she never had.

"Oh Mrs. Hudson there you are, have you seen-" he was cut off by her sudden chatter.

"Oh John Sherlock has gone and locked himself in your bedroom and won't come out. He took some needles in there as well and I'm awfully worried about him." she said. _Needles? _He thought. Suddenly John was dashing up the stairs towards his bedroom. John knew that Sherlock had a past problem with drugs but to the best of his knowledge he hadn't abused them in quite some time. He reached his bedroom door and tried to open it.

__Locked, damn __He thought.

"Sherlock...Sherlock can you hear me?" He said.

"Of course I can hear you, I'm not deaf." Came a reply from the other side of the door. John sighed in relief.

"Well that's lovely, can you tell me why you're in my room?" he asked. He had his ear close to the door, trying to hear his flatmates voice better.

"...I'm...experimenting, with some chemicals I recently bought." Sherlock responding, hesitating at the word experimenting.

"And how are you experimenting with these chemicals? Speaking of which, what chemicals did you say they were?" John asked.

"I didn't. And how I experiment with these chemicals is strictly none of your concern, now John if you wish to make yourself useful, go to the market and pick up some Ethanol, Peroxide and several bottles of Vanilla extract." Sherlock said. John became very puzzled and slightly irritated.

"Why do you need Peroxide? And Ethanol, what could you possibly need that for? Sherlock...Sherlock can you hear me?" John exclaimed. The door could be heard being unlocked then it swung open, and there stood a shirtless Sherlock Holmes, with sweat glazed all over his chest and abs. His pale skin shone brightly and his arm muscles bulged. Johns eyes wandered about the tall dark haired mans body like a child looking at a desired toy. Watson found enough self control to stop his eyes from meandering any further. A strong and terrible odor escaped from the room, stinging Johns eyes and nose. It smelled of death and rotting corpses.

"And...and why the vanilla...Vanilla extract hm?" John asked, clearing his throat, his cheeks beginning to flush pink. He didn't usually experience this type of embarrassment with Sherlock, so it made him feel uncomfortable.

"I enjoy the taste...off you go John." He said, and with that Sherlock swiftly closed the door. John stood there for a long moment, his mind once again in a jumble before he walked swiftly down the stairs, cane in hand off to the market.


	2. Chapter 2: A New Case

**Chapter 2: A New Case**

After returning from the market with all of Sherlock requests, John made his way up the stairs carrying up one plastic bag with all the essential items within it, limping as he did. Sherlock sat on the old green couch just below the yellow smiley face he had shot up just a few months prior, staring blankly at the new blue one across from the corner.

"I don't like it." Sherlock stated. John walked into the living quarters with the bag, placing the items on the crowded desk filled with papers and boxes. He inwardly tutted at the littered work space. _Sherlock has the most well-organized mind in the world but he manages to trash his living space with crap _John thought.

"I got your Ethanol and Peroxide." John said.

"I don't like it." he repeated.

"Well then why did you ask me to buy them, I wasted a good twenty minutes walking there and back." John said. Turning to look at him. Sherlock had his hands in his usual steeple stance. Fingertips placed directly under the chin, eyes locked on the two person couch.

"Not the Ethanol or the Peroxide, that bloody blue couch." Sherlock exclaimed standing up quickly. He marched over to the desk rummaging through the bag for his items, pulling out the vanilla extract.

"I like it, matches your robe" John stated.

"Are you saying you like my robe therefore you like the couch, or do you simply like the couch because its the same shade of blue as my robe?" Sherlock asked, his gray-blue eyes staring into Johns. John was hesitant before he answered.

"Neither, I simply just like the couch, the fact that it matches your robe is completely coincidental." John replied. Sherlock stared deeply into Johns eyes. John cheeks began to flush red. There it was again, the sudden embarrassment.

"That's the second time today your cheeks have turned that shade of red Watson, is that coincidental?" Sherlock said. Johns cheeks turned an even deeper red, he lowered his gaze to the floor. _Sherlock had noticed _ he thought. But that wasn't surprising Sherlock saw everything.

"That doesn't make sense. And you mind telling me why you wanted these ingredients?" That was Johns attempt at changing the conversation.

"Why are you trying to change the conversation John, do I make you uncomfortable?" Sherlock said, he moved closer toward John, his hands now behind his back.

"N-No." Watson stuttered. Sherlock stepped closer, now towering over John. Johns face began to harden.

"Good. And the answer to your question shall come at a later moment, we have a case." Holmes said.

"Oh do we, whats it this time? Murder, Scandal?" John asked, going to sit down on the now unapproved blue couch.

"Two women, each found formally dressed with freshly applied makeup." Sherlock started pacing the floor, now in his usual step of happiness, a type of happiness that only comes around when there is a new and interesting case.

"If that's the case then I say we go to dinner. You need to get out." John said, his attempt at humor. Although Sherlock ignored his efforts and continued.

"They were both found hung from their apartment balconies, but here is where it gets fun. They were both dead!" Sherlock exclaimed. He did a small jump of excitement, his blue robe springing this way and that. John sat slightly confused.

"Isn't that usually what happens when people are hanged?" he asked. Sherlock turned on his heels quickly, walking fast toward John. He grabbed John strongly with his long fingers by the shoulders.

"They were both corpses when they were hung, they had been dead for a few hours before they were hung." Sherlock exclaimed excitedly.

"So you're saying we're looking for someone who kidnaps and hangs corpses?" John asked.

"Yes, we are also looking for someone who managed to smuggle two corpses from a morgue in broad daylight." Sherlock said excitedly before continuing, "But the one thing that stumps me is what the motive is. Now, I've done a bit of research, and neither of these women have any relations toward eachother." He said as he walked over to his computer, beginning to type.

"What was the cause of death?" John questioned as he walked over to look at the screen. Johns head was right next to Sherlocks shoulder, and Sherlock smelled of Vanilla. _Was his experiment a type of cologne or something? _John thought. He couldn't recall what Sherlock actually smelled. Now that he thought about it, Sherlock didn't actually have an odor. He was scentless.

_Why am I smelling him? _John questioned. He had managed to catch himself stealing a whiff of the consulting detective. He smelled of vanilla and another scent that was indistinguishable John.

"One overdosed, the other, child birth. No link...besides the fact that they both died on the same day." Sherlock said as he pulled up a picture of the two women. One woman, the one John assumed to have died in childbirth, looked to be in her early thirties. Brunette and pretty, although it seemed that she may have contained a natural beauty had she not been covered in make-up. Then the other, she appeared to be young, didn't even look eighteen , although her face was made up nice her attire showed to have been homeless. She was dirty and thin.

"So there's no link besides the date of death, and the fact that the same person hung them ." John said.

"Obviously." Sherlock muttered.

"Well then Mr. Holmes, who's our Hanger?" John asked, still hovering over Sherlock. Sherlock turned his head and him and John were only millimeters away from each other. Sherlock stared intensely into Johns eyes, and John did the same. Sherlock then looked awkwardly down before standing and walking away.

"Well...um shall we uh..." John muttered.

"Just as soon as I make a phone call." Sherlock said, pulling his phone out.

"Who are you calling?" John asked. He walked over and sat down on the blue couch.

"Lestrade." Sherlock answered as he began to punch in the numbers for Greg Lestrade.


	3. Chapter 3: Denied Work

****Chapter 3: Denied Work****

Sherlock Holmes paced back and forth with an angry expression on his face. He held his small phone up to his ear, an angry Lestrade yelling from the other end of the receiver. Holmes and Watson had not left the flat yet, on account of Holmes not being able to successfully persuade Lestrade to let the two in on the investigation. John, who can admit defeat way sooner than Sherlock ever would, busied himself with his blog. Although, his page still remained blank. He truly had nothing to write about.

"Damn him!" yelled Sherlock. He slammed his phone down on the desk harshly, his eyes brows furrowing with an irritated look. John inwardly rolled his eyes, an 'I-Told-You-So' look beginning to form.

"I told you not to badger him, he told you know once, he won't change his mind if you continue to pester him." John replied. Sherlock had phoned Lestrade about four times in the past hour, begging him to let him take part in the case; but, Lestrade said no every single time. Sherlock began throwing papers on the floor like a child, although in Watson mind, Sherlock was in some ways a child.

"I won't be picking that up." John said, his eyes never leaving the computer screen.

"I'm bored John! I need to be stimulated intellectually. It's not like those idiots are going to figure it out. They never do. The always come to me. Always." He complained, he slumped pathetically into the old green couch, his blue robe hanging awkwardly off to the side.

"Its been a week since your last case Sherlock, stop complaining, and if you're bored go do something productive." Watson suggested. Sherlock rose to his feet and walked to John, stepping over the short coffee table along the way. Johns eyes did briefly look up, to notice how Sherlocks robe flowed over everything in a sort of graceful way. That was one thing John Watson could quietly say, he was amazed by Sherlock, even with the more simple things that his does. Sherlock closed the lid of Johns computer.

"If you call staring at a computer screen for an hour productive then I shall surely lose my mind. Besides, it takes more than simple actions to stimulate my brilliant mind." He said, waving his hands as he spoke. John chuckled.

"Modest today are we?" he said sarcastically. He placed his laptop on the floor again, folding his arms across his chest.

"So you never answered my question," John stated, referring to the conversation from earlier that morning. John found himself thinking about his flat mate with nothing but the sweat on his upper torso.

__Wait, why am I thinking about that?__

"What question?" Sherlock asked. His eyes burning deep into Watsons.

"Why did you have me buy Vanilla extract, Ethanol, and Peroxide?" he asked once more. Sherlock went and gazed out the window.

"I answered your question before you had even asked it, John. I said I was experimenting." He replied. His response seemed guarded. __Why was he being defensive?__

"And why did this experiment require you to be...without a shirt?" John asked. He was feeling bold, but was also just generally interested.

"Because i'm testing the ability to rid a corpse of its vile smell several days after expiration." Sherlock responded.

"You had a dead body in my bedroom?!" John exclaimed. Rising to his feet.

"You didn't even notice, which proves my experiment successful." Sherlock said, still staring out the window. John thought he saw Sherlock smirk. _He's enjoying this _John thought angrily.

"You had a bloody corpse in my bedroom!" John yelled once more.

"Oh calm down. You weren't bothered by my actions until you knew what it involved." Sherlock said bluntly.

"So explain the needle?" John asked.

"Well, I needed something to inject my serum with. You can't be this dull John" Sherlock responded.

"And why did you not have a shirt on?" John asked. His anger seemed to lift as he thought more about the question and why he was asking it.

"Well, if you must know I..." Sherlock began. John zoned out almost immediately.

__I'm just interested in why he was shirtless, I mean what kind of experiment could he be doing? Not that I am interested in him being shirtless. Not that I'm not interested in Sherlock, cause I'm not. I mean I am just not physically. Not that he isn't physically attractive, he is, I'm just not attracted to him. Yeah that makes sense.__

"John!" Sherlock announced.

"What? Oh sorry." He responded.

"If you're going to just check out every time I answer one of your questions then please at least pretend you're listening. Anyways, my experiments will be moved back here I just needed a different place to work." he said, taking his robe off and placing it on the desk. His night clothes which consisted of white and dark blue stripes seemed to hug his body well but there was still some bagginess left in the pants. John grunted in response, to lazy to continue conversation.

"Watson, come here." Sherlock whispered. John stood up and walked toward him, abandoning his warm spot on the couch.

"What is it?" John said, scratching the back of his neck tiredly. It didn't take long before John realized what caught Sherlocks attention.

"It seems the case has come to us instead." Sherlock said, his blue eyes squinted against the faint sunlight. Just across the street was a woman hanging from a lamp post, with a note that read:

**_**Mon amour sera écrite dans leur ai**_**

**"What does that say Sherlock?" John asked.**

**"My love will be written in their blood." Sherlock whispered**


	4. Chapter 4: A Strange Moment

**A.N.- Well i think this story is just about to start picking up now! Leave reviews so i can get a feel for how people who read this are taking it(I just want to know you guys are liking it!). So hopefully if you have come this far you are thoroughly enjoying the story. I will update this as often as i can(Or feel like), but i won't leave you guys hanging for to long. You have been warned!**

**- Hades**

**Chapter 4: A Strange Moment**

Sherlock and John both stared out of the window onto the scene before them. People began to crowd and point, and hopefully a pedestrian would phone the police.

"Well, shall we?" John said, making his from the window toward the door where his leather coat hang. He pulled his coat on and was preparing to walk out of the door before he realized Sherlock had not left his stance at the window. Sherlock continued his gazing, or at least that 's what John thought.

"Sherlock?" John asked. But his tall friend did not move an inch.

_Oh great, he's in one of his trances._

John sighed, raising an eyebrow to his friend. He walked back over to the window cautiously, his shoes seeming to drag endlessly across the floor. For some strange reason Watson felt uncomfortable. John had never felt uncomfortable around Sherlock, even the first he ever met him, which for any other person would have been enough to not want to be anywhere near Sherlock. But what made this moment so much different? He finally reached his colleagues side, a chill running up his back as he did.

"Sherlock?" he repeated. Sherlocks eyes were closed, his jaw tightly locked, and he seemed paler than usual.

"Sherlock are you alright?" He repeated once more. He stretched his arm out, placing his hand on Sherlocks shoulder cautiously. Suddenly a strange, almost, electrical feeling bolted through his hands when he touched his shoulder. John wanted to jump back, he wanted to pull his hand away but found that he couldn't.

_What is wrong with you John? Pull away damn you!_ His thoughts screamed. For someone reason he just couldn't find himself to pull away.

"Sherlock!" Watson screamed. This seemed to wake the tall man from whatever trance he was in, his eyes immediately snapped to Watsons. Their eyes bored into one another, blue staring into blue. Sherlock finally gave a verbal response, something that John welcomed.

"We've got a...an investigation...to-uh investigate in." Sherlock said. Watson was in shock, Sherlock had never been at a loss for words, in fact he was the one person who said to many, in a too unkindly fashion.

"Um, Sherlock..." John started, but Holmes stepped away fast, leaving Watsons hand to fall limply back to his side.

"Come, come now John. Onward, before Lestrade arrives to take away all the fun." he said quickly, ignoring his friends futile efforts of commenting on what had just happened.

Sherlock walked quickly away to his own room to change, leaving a largely confused Watson standing in front of the window.

_What the hell was that? _Thought John.


	5. Chapter 5: The Game Begins

****Chapter 5: The Game Begins****

The morning had taken an awkward turn to say the least, first with the shirtless encounter John had had with Sherlock, then their little fiasco just now with the staring. And all these thoughts buzzing around in Johns head. Why was he suddenly thinking of Sherlock in what some may consider a subtly sexual way? He pushed that thought aside as he became conscious of his current state. He had not moved from the spot that Sherlock left him in. He stood there, just as motionless as the statues of Notre Dame. His hand tingled from the shock that had previously ran through it.

__Probably just static, it has to be static. __John thought, trying to convince himself that...well he doesn't know what exactly he is trying to convince himself of.

__And why is Sherlock acting so strangely? __That was a good question indeed. From Johns own experience, he had not seen Sherlock that shaken since that Hell Hound investigation they did earlier that year, and that was an expression that John never wanted to see on his colleagues face again.

"John." a deep voice sounded from behind. John looked up to see Sherlock fully dressed in his normal attire of dark pants, a black button up shirt, his dark blue scarf fashioned in its usual 'Holmes' style and his long trench coat. His face appeared to have been splashed with water and poorly dried.

"Sherlock are feeling-" he began, but Sherlock cut him off before he could finish..

"Never better John." he said quickly. A little to quickly, even for the famed Sherlock Holmes.

"Are sure you seem a bit," John replied.

"I seem a bit what?" Sherlock asked, his expression becoming hard to read. Not that Sherlock was an easily readable person.

"You seem...distracted," he voiced. John always found it slightly difficult to voice his concern for his friend, he wasn't sure why but he just felt odd doing things like that.

"Well I'm not." he snapped.

"Well i'm sorry, no need to get snappy, i'm just...voicing my concern." John admitted.

"Hmph, oh you people and your feelings. Must put a damper on your mood doing that." Sherlock responded.

__Now there's the usual Sherlock i know __John thought. He had no response to Sherlocks comment. If he was being honest with himself, he would say it put his mind at ease knowing Sherlock could still be a jerk.

"Well, shall we press on? I'm not going to let Lestrade have all the fun." Sherlock said with a slight smirk. John nodded in agreement, and both men walked down the stairs and out the door, on their way to the investigation.

Sherlock and John had left the house just a second to late, because as soon as they exited the house, they both saw Lestrades men clearing off the crowd and placing yellow tape around the crime scene. The body had been moved from its previous hanging spot out of the window. Lestrades men probably moved it John thought. Sherlock and John both were about to enter when Sargent Sally Donovan stepped in front of them.

"We don't need you Holmes, clear off. You and your boyfriend." She said with arms crossed.

"I'm not his boyfriend." John announced, although he was completely ignored, as usual, when it came to that topic.

"Don't need me? You think you and your colleagues are gonna solve this case?" Sherlock said.

"You're a consulting detective last time i checked. No one, that i am aware of has consulted with you. So don't make me repeat myself, clear off Holmes." she said, her tone getting meaner.

"You repeated yourself all on your goodwill, and Lestrade asked me to come. Now where's the corpse?" Sherlock asked. He pushed through Sally went underneath the yellow tape and preceded to hold the tape up for John to follow.

"Since when? I heard your little spat on the telly, don't try to pull one over on me Holmes. And its gone off to the morgue where it belongs!" Sally yelled, snatching the tape from his hand.

"If i wanted to pull on over on you Donovan i would have done it already, as dull as you are." he responded. The two were now in each others faces, both sneering at one another.

"Could you two not be at each others throats for more than two seconds?" John said.

"Yes Sherlock, listen to your boyfriend and not act like a child for once in your life." an annoying voice sounded. Sherlock, Sally, and Johns head turned to see the scrawny Anderson snapping his gloves off whilst walking toward them. Sherlock eye twitched irritatingly.

"I am not a child." he replied.

"Let him through Donovan, we can use him for something." He said. Sally, hatingly, released the yellow tape and let John pass inside. The duo, with Anderson leading them walked up the steps, which were underneath the hanging body, and into the house. Anderson led them up the wooden staircase and into what appeared to be the master bedroom. John was walking when suddenly his face met the back of Sherlocks.

"Sherlock...what...the bloody hell is-" he said walking around his friend. John knew something was wrong. It was the same look this morning but far more horrified. His eyes were as wide as John had ever witnessed, he was incredibly pale, and it almost looked as though he was shaking out of fear.

"Sherlock are you ok?" John asked concernedly.

"Mean anything to you Holmes?" Anderson asked. John turned to see what Sherlock was talking about and saw, written in what appeared to be red paint. It read:

__**Time to finish our game Sherlock- G.L**__

"Sherlock! Does this mean anything to you?" Anderson repeated. John looked back at his friend, his mind going into an episode of questions.

"...It means..everything to me." Sherlock whispered.

Johns gaze moved from Sherlock to the eerie phrase written in blood red.


	6. Chapter 6: Past is the new Present

****Chapter 6: Past is the new Present****

"I'm phoning Lestrade, get the freak out of here Donovan." Anderson said, pulling out his phone. Donovan stepped forward but John glared at her.

"Just give him a second! And who put you in charge Anderson?" John yelled. John had his hand clasped tightly around Sherlocks face, trying to shake him out of this shock that he had suddenly entered.

"A second? He's been like that for a good twenty minutes. And Lestrade! He had a prior engagement and out me in charge." replied Anderson replied. Nearly every woman or man working on the case had come to see Sherlock Holmes in his current state of immobilization. Sally and Anderson stood side by side near the window looking on at the sight before them.

"He's in shock." John argued. Sally grunted while Anderson and a few others chuckled.

"In shock from what? Some guy telling him he wants to finish his game of tag?" Anderson replied arrogantly. John rolled his eyes, ignoring everyone's comments.

"Come on Sherlock, snap out of it." he whispered. He stared into Sherlocks eyes and face, trying to read anything he could. He got nothing. Sherlock face had twisted into that of what a childs might look like if they saw their nightmare out in the real world.

__Why do I keep comparing him to a child? Well I suppose he is one. __He thought, he shook his head slightly at that.

__Come on John, stay focused.__

"Sherlock, please, stop freaking out every five minutes and snap out of it!" he begged. Sherlock had no reply. His jaw locked tight, fists balled up even tighter, to the point of having nearly blue knuckles.

"Alright, I'm done with this. I'm phoning Lestrade. This is our case Watson. Leave it to the professionals. Now remove yourself and Holmes now before I have you arrested for trespassing on a crime scene." Anderson replied, he pulled out his phone, pressed some buttons and was soon talking away with his boss as he walked out of the room.

"I always told myself I'd be there the day Sherlock finally broke, I honestly thought it'd be a better sight." sally commented before walking away. Clearing off the remaining people in the room. John had not moved from his position. Still directly in front of Sherlock, hands still firmly grasped on the face of his friend. His finger tips just barely touching the curly strand of Sherlocks hair.

John had to find some way to get him to get out of his mental shutdown but how?

__I could punch him... __he thought.

__No that'd just knock him __out. He concluded. John thought and thought in his head scratching off any and nearly all Ideas that followed. But then one idea jumped into his mind, an idea he wish would have been deleted as soon as it had entered.

__No...no. No way on bloody hell am I doing that. What the hell is wrong with you John? What are you thinking? __He thought. His face flushed pink at the idea. He made up his mind and tried the only thing that may even work regardless if it knocked him out. He stepped away from his statue of a friend, pulled his arm back and swung. His fist collided with Sherlocks face, causing pain on both ends. Sherlock stumbled back a bit before landing on the floor, his hand immediately coming to his face. John shook his hand rapidly, trying to shake the pain in his knuckles out.

"What...what-WHY?" Sherlock exclaimed. John rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Why? Maybe because you've been standing there like a paralyzed bloody mute for the past half-hour. Why do you keep doing that?" John asked. He grabbed Sherlock by the arm and pulled him up.

"What do you mean doing what. I was standing there and Anderson just...where Anderson?" Sherlock replied. His eyes raced about the room trying to locate Anderson but couldn't find him.

"Where is he? He was standing there just now. I saw him." Sherlock exclaimed. John looked worriedly at him as his friend began walking about the room like a crazy person.

_Had he lost track of time or something? _John wondered.

"He was right here, by the wall. He had just asked if those initials meant anything to me and I was about to explain and..." Sherlock said, the last few words of his statement being unaudible to John.

"Sherlock that was half an hour ago. You were in some sort of shock or something." John replied. Sherlock, for the first time in...well never, was completely lost.

"Shock? If I was in shock I would be in severe pain. I wouldn't be standing still i'd be rapidly shaking." His baritone voice responded.

"Yeah, well then explain why you were just frozen in place? I kept calling your name but you never said anything. Just stood there like a statue." he replied once more. Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, closing his eyes as he did and sighed.

"And you didn't think of punching me anytime sooner?" Sherlock asked.

"I didn't want to hurt you." he said.

"Oh please John, your little punches although probably useful in Afghanistan have lost its edge. Child's play really." he said in his usual 'I'm-going-to-mock-you-now' tone. John grunted.

"Please, I took you off of your feet." John announced.

"I tripped over something, the fact that you punched me is completely coincidental. Anyhow there are more pressing matters. Like when our G.L. character is going to kill." Sherlock responded before rushing out of the room and down the stairs and out the of the house. John followed right on his heels.

"Murder, I thought you said these people were already dead before they were hung?" john asked.

"They were, but his next victim is going to be murdered." Sherlock exclaimed.

John sighed in relief. Sherlock was back in the swing of things once more, although he had to remind himself to ask Sherlock about his sudden shock moments.

"How do you know?" John asked.

"Because all psychopaths kill. Taxi!" yelled Sherlock as he raised his hand to hail a cab. A black taxi pulled up to the curb in front of the duo.

"So where are we off to again?" John asked as he opened the door.

"Morgue, dead body central. We are going to go and find our Corpse." Sherlock replied. John nodded as the two entered into a black taxi and were on their way to their destination. John sat in his seat quietly, his mind racing with questions, the most obvious one being:

__Why in all the ways to get Sherlock to snap out of his funk had i considered kissing him?__


	7. Chapter 7: Elevator Ride

****Chapter 7: Elevator Ride****

The taxi ride was a quiet one, with Sherlock rapidly texting whoever it was he was texting and John trying to get his thoughts out of a jumble, you would think there was only one passenger. Johns eyebrows were furrowed down in its usual thinking look, with his lips pushed out slightly, almost like a pout.

"Thinking?" Sherlock said, his face somehow buried into his small phone. John looked up to his colleague.

"What was that?" he asked. Sherlock closed his phone, placed it in his pocket, then brought his hands up to his face. His hands were in that 'Sherlock' position that John had grown so accustomed to seeing. It was placed in what most people might think of being a praying pose, although John never thought of Sherlock being religious.

__He probably thinks of himself as his own higher power. __John chuckled at that thought.

"Thinking, and you chuckled. I'm curious as to why. Or whether if you will confide in me. Seeing as I already know what you're thinking about." he spoke confidently. John grunted.

"I highly doubt you know what I am thinking." John replied.

__He has no idea what I am thinking about. __Thought John.

"Try me." Sherlock challenged. John looked at Sherlock, his brown eyes locking with Sherlock gray blue eyes.

"Ok," John responded, nodding his head as he did. He placed his hands on the sides of him, letting his legs spread slightly for comfort.

"What am I thinking?" John asked.

"I don't read minds, John." Sherlock replied.

"No, but you can tell what type of toothbrush a person uses based on the creamer they put in their coffee. So I think reading my mind should be no problem for you. Besides, you should know me well enough by now Sherlock." John pressed. Sherlock sat thinking for a moment, his long fingers still neatly tucked away underneath his chin.

"You're annoyed with me." He said in a monotone voice.

"I'm always annoyed with you." John replied. Sherlock cracked a smile.

"Hmph, well judging by your current position of slouching, it is a thought which you continue to push to the side, although it is not important, you ignoring your current thoughts seem to cause you some stress. And the way you have your legs slightly parted shows that the thought creates some arousal but not enough for you to be currently affected and seeing as you haven't been sexually active in the past seventeen days it would explain you consistent distraction. Your showers have also become shorter by a whole three minutes which means your usual 'morning relief' exercises have ceased currently. And you have not recently resided to your room with your lap top either so that adds to the relief problem you seem to have so either you are having erectile dysfunction issues or your ways of being stimulated aren't...stimulating anymore." Sherlock said quickly. John sat there, his face suddenly beginning to flush pink. His back suddenly became more erect and he crossed his legs in an uncomfortable manner; clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact with his overly-observant colleague.

"Have I missed anything?" Sherlock asked. John shook his head as words failed to escape his mouth.

John had not realized that he hadn't masturbated in quite sometime, let alone had sex. But what made him curious was the fact that Sherlock had notice these things. John knew that Sherlock was observant but he was not aware that Sherlock paid that close attention to him.

The cab had come to an abrupt stop in the parking lot of St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

"Ere you gents are, that'll be forty-six pounds." the cab driver announced. John got and walked around to the front of the cab while Sherlock paid the fare.

__How did he...How could he possibly...__Johns thoughts were in a swirl over what Sherlock had said.

"Come now John, shall we press on?" Sherlock said, brushing past him ever so slightly. His long trench coat gracefully dancing around the back of his legs as he walked.

"Do you pry on me or something?" John asked, a hint of anger in his voice. He followed closely to Sherlock as they walked through the doors of the hospital.

"No I simply pay attention." he replied, his strides becoming longer and faster.

"No, no. That surpasses paying attention and borders spying." John said.

"I do not spy, I pay attention to detail and simply put them together John, not to difficult." Sherlock said.

"Well stop putting things together and stop paying attention to me. I do not have erectile dysfunction." John said frustratingly as the two men entered the elevator. The elevator doors closed and the the two men descended down.

"Getting frustrated won't help you...or maybe it will. I can't entirely say." Sherlock said, his eyes remaining straight ahead.

"Do you find this amusing Sherlock?" John asked.

"I don't find much amusing John, but look, you asked me to state what was going through your mind and I answered it. Don't get upset with me if you don't like the results." he snapped, his eyes darting to Johns.

"I only dislike inaccurate results." John said quietly. His eyes were intense and held an almost malevolent look.

"What are you talking about? I properly analyzed every detail and placed them together perfectly." Sherlock stated.

"You may have but that wasn't what I was thinking about." John said.

"Then what was it?" He asked.

"I was thinking about Mary." John replied. He then strode out through the elevator doors and down the hall toward the morgue. Sherlock stood in the elevator and stared down at the floor, becoming ever aware of the pain that he had just caused his friend.


	8. Chapter 8: New Ties and Old Leads

**Chapter 8: New Ties and Old Leads**

John walked through the doors of the morgue, his searching around for the familiar face of Molly Hooper. He made sure not to call out for her, seeing as that was usually Sherlocks job and John wasn't particularly sure what the two of them were doing here.

"Hello there." an unfamiliar voice sounded. John turned to see a young girl no older than twenty at the most sitting on a spinning chair in the far corner. Her dark brown hair was just below her shoulders at length, although it could be longer seeing as it was extremely curly. Her skin was a shade of milk chocolate and looked soft at the touch. She rose from her chair and walked toward John, clutching a clipboard closely to her chest.

"Hello," John replied.

"You aren't Sherlock Holmes are you?" she asked.

"No, I'm a friend of his. John Watson." he said. He politely held his hand out and she took it all the same, shaking it softly.

"Kira Sangaurd. I'm filling in for Molly while she's away." she responded.

"Where did Ms. Hooper go off too?" a voice sounded from behind. John and Kira both looked over to see Sherlocl standing by the doors.

"Don't know, she never told me. You must be Sherlock Holmes, then." she said.

"Well then, if she told you about my description then she probably told you that I come in here periodically to look at bodies." Sherlock said, giving a friendly smile toward the girl.

"Yes, she told me how she lets you two come in and examne bodies and such things." she replied.

"Good, well first things first, I need to know if any bodies have been recently taken from the morguw and possibly transferred elsewhere. And If so I need to know who signed for them and which bodies were-

"No." She interrupted. John looked at the girl, surprised.

"What do you mean no?" Sherlock asked.

"I mean exactly what I say. Those files are confidential and are of no concern to yours. You may be able to win over Molly with that face but it'll take a bit of effort to talk me into showing you those files." she said boldly. Her eyes had a friendly challenging look in them, a look which John liked for some strange reason.

"Well I'm sure thirty pounds will suffice." Sherlock said in an attempted bribe. She shook her head still smiling.

"Sixty?" he said.

"Nope."

"One hundred?" he added.

"Money won't help you here, Mr. Holmes." she stated.

"Lunch?" he continued.

"Already ate, and no." she said.

"Then what?" Sherlock asked

"You're an expert at observation, figure it out. Until then Mr. Holmes, I'm going to have to ask you and you're boyfriend here to leave, I have bodies to tend to." She said, turning her back and walking back toward her chair.

"I'm not his boyfriend." John said, holding his hands up as he spoke. She turned and looked, her eyes switching between John and Sherlock and smiled.

"Whatever you say." she replied.

"You never said where Molly went." Sherlock announced.

"She never told me. Might have been a death in a family or something." she said.

"Why do you think that?" Sherlock asked, his face becoming interested.

"Well she was here pretty late the night she left, I had left my bag in one of the research labs and ran into her. She was crying, eyes all red and cheeks puffy, the face of someone who was in a tragic position I had assumed. She asked if I could fill in for her for the next few days and said a man, which would be you, would be stopping by soon. And that was it. She never said anything else to me after that." Kira responded.

"How long ago was that?" Sherlock asked, his voice raised in urgency.

"About three days ago why?" Kira asked. Sherlock ignored her question and walked quickly out through the doors. John followed shouting a quick 'Thank You' behind him before he was soon on the heels of his friend.

"What's wrong? You think Molly may know something?" John asked.

"Yes, well no. But yes." Sherlock said.

"What do you mean?" John questioned as Sherlock impatiently pressed the button for the elevator.

"I mean, Molly left the night before the first body was discovered, and seeing as this is the morgue closest to the first crime scene this has to be the place where the body was taken from which means Molly was the only person that could have seen our G.L. Fellow." Sherlock stated.

"So we are off to find Molly then, yes?" John asked as the elevator doors opened. The two men stepped in and Sherlock pressed the button that would take them to the main floor.

"Yes, we are John." Sherlock said as he popped his collar up fashionably.

**A.N.- Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! So are you lot enjoying the story? Should I pick up the pace with the Johnlock or keep this pace? Also what do you think of Kira? I was just going to keep her as a temporary character but if you enjoyed her I can keep her around, somehow. Anyways let me know with a review or PM me if you don't want other reading your comments. Thanks for reading!**

**-Hades**


	9. Chapter 9: Promise

****Chapter 9: Promise****

The two gents were soon back in a taxi and headed to Molly Hoopers' home. John sat on the opposite most side of the cab, trying to avoid Sherlock as much as possible. Sherlock noticed this and sighed.

"I'm sorry." he muttered.

"I'm not mad." John gruffly replied.

"You are. Observation is one of my talents as you know. But it doesn't take much to see that I have made you upset." Sherlock said guiltily.

"I'm not honestly. I'm just thinking." John said.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked. John looked at him, with an eyebrow raised.

"I won't give any input, I'll just listen." Sherlock added raising his hands up in defense.

"The initials." John stated, turning his head back toward the window.

"What about them?" Sherlock questioned.

"Well G.L. I mean, there is only one person we know that has a name with those initials." John said.

"And who would that be?" Sherlock pressed. His face read that he already knew what John was thinking but he continued to not say anything, pretending to be in the dark about the situation. This made John happy...for some strange reason. The fact that Sherlock was trying not to be a dick made John happy. __Maybe happy is too strong a word __John thought.

"Lestrade, his first names Greg and we haven't seen a hair on him all day. And he didn't want you getting involved with the case. Makes sense doesn't it?" John said, turning his head slightly to see the detectives reaction.

"Greg? I thought his first name was George." Sherlock responded.

"Although it does makes perfect sense, Lestrade would be the perfect suspect except for the three following reasons why. If I may say those." Sherlock said, hoping for approval. John found it strange that Sherlock was becoming guarded over his responses, as if Johns earlier sensitivity to what he had said affected him. Now he suddenly cared about what John thought; not that he was complaining. John nodded toward his friend, letting him continue his explanation.

"First reason, the handwriting was off. Lestrades hand-writing is messy, close to chicken scratch, whoever wrote that on the wall is someone who is cautious about their writing. And seeing as how it was written on a wall at that angle it was almost to neat. Second reason, Lestrades been in Hampstead since last Thursday with a new female colleague of his. Nothing serious, simply physical. And lastly, I know who G.L. is." Sherlock said. His eyes glanced quickly from John to the door of the car and then landing once again on John. His eyes penetrated Johns like needle against skin. John flinched at the intensity.

"And who is this G.L. Character?" he asked. Sherlock hesitated before responding.

"Listen to me John, I need you to promise me something. Before I tell you about this man I need you to promise me that if anything goes wrong or if you are ever in danger that I cannot get you out of during this case, I want you to run. I don't care if I'm hurt or if my life is in danger I need you to promise me that you will flee if there is any sign of danger." Sherlock said, his voice beginning to shake.

__What's wrong with him? Why does he want me to promise these things? __John thought.

"What are you going on about Sherlock?" John asked.

"Promise me...please." he begged.

__Is he...begging? What's going on with him.__

"Why? Why would my life be put in danger?" John questioned, he leaned in, his elbows now bordering the edge of his knees.

"Because he is a dangerous man and I need to try and keep you safe." he responded. Sherlocks gaze grew more and more intense, it almost appeared as if tears were forming in his eyes.

"Why do you need to keep me safe? Who is this guy?" John questioned.

"Promise me!" Sherlock yelled. There was silence between the two. Sherlock stared into Johns eyes, and John stared right back. He searched his friends features, hoping to find some detail he could use to figure out why he was acting so strangely. __Nothing.__

"I promise dammit, now tell me why you are acting so strangely. Who is this man Sherlock?" John hollered.

"Gerard Larimer. The only man I will ever willingly say I fear." he whispered, his eyes seeming to become distant and fearful.

****A.N.- Hey all, just a quick request. Could you guys please leave reviews on how you all are enjoying the story, if you are. It helps me know where to go next with the story. And also you guys now know who G.L. is. Much excitement isn't it? Well, LEAVE REVIEWS! Please :-)****

****-Hades****


	10. Chapter 10: Gerard Larimer

****Chapter 10: Gerard Larimer****

Sherlocks pale Grey-blue eyes were as deep as ever with intensity and fear. The wild look in his struck a fair amount of fear and worry into John. Mainly worry.

"Who is this man Sherlock?" John questioned further. Sherlock moved back in his seat as his eyes drifted out toward the window.

"I wouldn't use the word man, as cruel and unsophisticated as Men can be, he surpasses the level of cruelty; and he is more sophisticated than any individual can ever hope to be. He specializes in the manipulation of the human mind. He possesses a particular ability of persuasion which is why politicians flock to him. His is the most powerful man in all of London. If you think you know what true corruption is you have never been in the presence of Gerard Larimer." Sherlock spoke quietly.

"What'd he do to you that was so bad?" John asked. His tone made the question come out more boringly than he made it sound, although as he leaned in he could Sherlock knew he was interested.

"One afternoon, while I was reading a book on Dirac's Principle on Quantum Mechanics, I noticed a man sitting at a chess table, staring at me, enticing me to come near to him. Now this man has a certain way with people, and me being weak and ignorant I followed this mans gaze and drew nearer. I sat down and there was an eerie silence. Then he moved his pawn forward. And I did the same. And we continued our game until he took one of my bishops. I was about to move but he got up and left mid game. Exactly four days later, one of the counselors of Cambridge was found dead. It was strange but I thought nothing of it. I left it to the proper authorities to figure it out, but no investigation was pursued. Then about a month later, I ran into this man again, with a chess board set up and all the pieces in the exact others that they had been left in. He fiddled with a bishop in his hands with a terrifying smile. But somehow he managed to entice me once more to play, and thus we continued, until he took two of my pawns and a knight. He left once more, leaving me to ponder. About five days later a security guard and two students were all found in Kew Gardens, dead. Now I managed to put all the details together with some added research on the case and realized that this man was using me to choose his victims. And he would kill his victims with whatever status that he took of my players. Students were pawns, knights were security Bishops were authorities figures on campus, he thinks the human race is all a game and we are all his pawns!" Sherlock yelled, before continuing. "That is why he is dangerous John, he shows no remorse, he views the human race as a bunch of chess pieces, each individual at his disposal and just as easily discarded. Politics use because they know what he is capable of, and they fear him. They fear him. He's cold and emotionless and truly evil, but he has an intelligence and memory that surpasses even that of Einstein. He can observe the tiniest crack in world and tell its entire history in the blink of an eye. He has weaknesses, no emotional breaking point. That is why he is dangerous." Sherlock said. John didn't know how to respond, his friend was obviously distressed. John could tell this man was definite threat to his friend.

"How do we stop him?" John asked. Sherlock closed his eyes, rubbing his temple with his long fingers.

"There is no way to stop him, he's protected by the most powerful authoritative figures in London, and even in all of Europe, he's untouchable." Sherlock whispered. John sat and thought.

"There has to be someway to bring him down. He can't just go leaving dead bodies around for all of London to see. Someone will put a stop to this." John spoke.

"Cab driver, turn around, go to 221b Baker Street." Sherlock yelled. The cabbie nodded, then the cab was quickly turning around. John looked at the window.

"Why are we going to back to the flat?" John asked.

"Because I need to think." Sherlock said.


	11. Chapter 11: Cold Tea and Naps

**Chapter 11: Cold Tea and Naps**

The cab pulled up to the curb that resided in front of the address 221b, and the gentlemen got out, paid the cabbie and found themselves walking up the familiar steps towards their flat. The door knocker was in its usual crooked form. Sherlock got the keys from out of his pocket unlocked the door and quickly went inside; John followed.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled as he stopped in the hallway. John brushed pass him and began to climb the stairs.

"Cup of tea John?" Sherlock asked. John stopped and turned.

"Uh. Sure. No sugar, please." John said.

"Will do. Mrs. Hudson!" He yelled again. John made his way upstairs and back into the living space that he had grown so used to. From the dirty chemistry set Sherlock had spread out on the kitchen table to the very walls themselves, John felt at home in every way. It had only been a few hours, but John felt as if he had been away for several days.

He sat down on the blue love seat and shut his eyes. He liked this chair, even if Sherlock didn't agree with it, it was comfy.

_Sherlock never asks me if I want tea. He always assumes that I don't. _John thought.

He could hear voices talking downstairs. Probably Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. John hadn't realized how tired he felt, and he began to drift into unconsciousness.

"John." A familiar voice said. John cracked his eyes open to Sherlock standing over him.

"How long was I asleep?" John yawned. Sherlock shook his head and smiled.

"Not long." He whispered. John noticed something strange about the room. There was nothing wrong with the room, but something seemed off. Something wasn't right but John couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"So, no tea then?" John asked. Sherlock just stood there, smiling.

"Alright then I'll take that as a yes, then. So were you able to think?" John asked. Sherlock turned, with his hands behind his back and began to pace.

"Yes, I was able to think John. I thought long and hard about...everything." he said.

"Well then I assume you came up with something good since you're smiling creepily. What'd you come up with then?" John asked standing up. He looked at Sherlock and watched him just stand there.

_What's going on with him now? _John thought.

"You shouldn't assume things John, it holds no true intellect. Its not even worthy of being called an educated guess." Sherlock said. Sherlock was now standing in front of the fireplace, he was fiddling with the skull in his hands.

"Well, then whatever you came up with what was it?" John responded, John began to get slightly annoyed with Sherlock.

"You." He said.

"Me?" John replied. He felt his heart skip a beat. Did Sherlock now think that he was involved or something?

"All this time...its been you..." he said as he turned to face John. Sherlocks smile had faded at this point, and his eyes were intense; he began to walk toward John.

"Look Sherlock, I don't know what you're on about, but I have nothing to do with whatever Larimer is doing." John said nervously.

"Oh this has nothing to do with the case, John. Sherlock replied. He was now directly in front of John, staring him down. There was something the way he looked that made John shudder

"Then what's it about?" John questioned. He cleared his throat as Sherlock came within an inch of him.

"Its about you...and I." Sherlock said. He grabbed Johns hand and intertwined their fingers together.

John couldn't find the sense to rip his hand away from Sherlocks and give him a nice solid punch for even thinking of such an idea.

"...Sherlock...What are you-" Sherlocks long finger crept up to silence John from talking any further.

"Don't speak, and don't deny me, John Watson." Sherlock darkly spoke. Sherlock dropped his finger from John lips and rather intertwined all ten of his long fingers into Johns hair, and he brought him closely and kissed him lightly. Johns eyes immediately closed, and soon his hands were tangled in Sherlocks curly hair. Johns head was in a swirl. One part of him was thinking why isn't he pulling away, why can't he stop himself but the other doesn't want him to stop; it wants him to keep going. The two fell in a heap onto the blue couch, their hands exploring each others bodies. Their lips never parted, they moved in sync with one another, each one adapting to the others tempo.

"John..." Sherlock moaned. Sherlock let his hands fall down to his friends belt, and he tugged, trying to pry it off.

"John..." Sherlock moaned again.

_Hang on...if he's still kissing me...how is he saying my name? _John wondered.

Sherlock had never parted his lips from Johns so there was no physical way he could be saying Johns name.

"JOHN!" Sherlock said once more. Johns eyes snapped open. There was Sherlock, standing over him with a cup if tea in his hand.

_A dream... _ John thought.

"You don't usually go into that deep of sleep, have you been taking medication?" Sherlock questioned. John rubbed his eyes then stared at the detective.

"How long was I asleep?" John asked.

"About thirty-two minutes." Sherlock answered, handing him his cup of tea. Johm took a sip then looked at Sherlock.

"Its cold." He said.

"I know, you fell asleep." Sherlock said as he sat down in his chair.

"And you didn't wake me?" John asked.

"I just did. You were disturbing me." Sherlock said. He was typing away quickly on his phone.

"How was I disturbing you?" John asked as he sat up and placed his tea on the coffee table.

"You were moaning, in your sleep." Sherlock said. John froze.

_Crap. Please tell me I didn't say his name...Please. _He mentally begged.


	12. Chapter 12: A Little Domestic

****Chapter 12: A Little Domestic****

"Moaning?" John said, as his heart began to crawl into his throat. _Please tell me I didn't say his name! Well...i don't remember saying his name it that dream, maybe I didn't say it aloud...wait! Why in the hell was I dreaming about kissing Sherlock? What is wrong with me? I'm not gay! I enjoy women! ….Although a straight man wouldn't need to convince himself of that. _John thought. He shuddered slightly at the thought then pushed it away. Because John Watson was not gay...right?

"Yes, moaning." Sherlock responded, snapping John out of his train of thought. Sherlock was sitting in his usual stance; fingers just under the chin in a thinking position.

_He's always thinking. John thought._

"Nothing...understandable was it?" John questioned. Sherlocks eyes shot up to Johns.

"Why?" He pressed.

"Just curious I suppose." John asked, trying to seem as uninterested as possible. Sherlock sprang up from his seat, his hair bouncing as he did. His hair had a brilliant mind of its own at times.

"Well I guess then I'll just keep that bit of information to myself." Sherlock said, piercing John with his Blue-Green eyes.

"That's fine." John said, ignoring his need to become lost in Sherlocks eyes, as he walked to the kitchen. _He had to be bluffing. _John thought. John walked into the kitchen and turned to open the microwave door. John pulled it open then immediately closed it. He blinked several times before re-opening the microwave to gaze at the scene that lay before him. He was shocked, but it didn't make sense as to why he would b e shocked. This wasn't strange when it came to Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock." John said.

"Yes?" Sherlock replied from the other room.

"Why is there a hand in the microwave?" John asked as he closed his eyes to the pale severed hand that lay inside. He heard some quick movement then saw Sherlock pop around the corner and take the hand.

"An experiment." He said quickly.

"An experiment for-You know what, I'm not even going to ask." John said. He had lost his appetite for tea, and placed the cup in the sink.

"So did you Get any thinking done for the thirty two minutes that I was asleep?" John asked.

"Yes, I did." Sherlock said. He had now moved himself back to his sitting place on the green couch, his eyes staring at the blue loveseat.

"And?" John questioned, staring at him. Sherlock stared at the blue couch a little while longer.

"Sherlock?" John said, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" Sherlock said.

"And? Your thinking? What did you gather you could do about Larimer?" John asked irritatingly, before making his way to sit on the blue couch.

"Oh all in due time John." Sherlock announced before jumping to his feet once more. He snatched his phone from the coffee table and began to type away once more.

"So you're going to keep me in the dark on this one then?" John said annoyed.

_Why is he always frustrating me? _John wondered.

"Oh don't be so sensitive John." Sherlock said. A _Ding _sound was heard escaping the detectives phone, then he quickly shoved it into his pocket.

"What was that?" John asked as he sank into the couch, growing comfier and comfier by each second that passed.

"A text." Sherlock replied.

"Two whom?" John further questioned.

"So many questions. Its to Molly. Asking her dinner." Sherlock said as he began to pace the floor.

"Dinner?" John said with a slight smile.

"Please stop with the questions. Its distracting me." Sherlock said, his face revealed massive amounts of stress. Now that John actually looked at him, Sherlock looked as if he hadn't slept in a few days; his face had aged, and he had bags underneath his eyes. His skin was paler than usual and he looked ill.

"Sherlock, when is the last time you slept?" John questioned once more.

"A few days, why does that matter?" Sherlock responded.

"Because you need sleep, Sherlock." John said loudly.

"I don't need sleep, I need silence. I need you to stop talking and asking questions because you are beginning to spread your low I.Q. onto me, now please Shut Up!" Sherlock yelled. A long silence spread over the room. Sherlock kept up his stress related pacing, his eyes never being removed from his phone on that lie on the coffee table; while John just stared at Sherlock.

It wasn't uncommon for Sherlock to grow loud and hateful when he was in times of stress, but that didn't mean it didn't cause John some fair amount of pain. It wasn't so much the fact that Sherlock yelled that caused John to keep his silence, it was more of how Sherlock said it. Almost as if he was an inferior person, someone less of being in his presence; but that's how Sherlock viewed everyone. Maybe because John thought he was worth more to Sherlock than everyone else. John didn't respond to Sherlock, he didn't respond with a sarcastic statement or a hateful lecture. He simply made his way to the door, grabbing his jacket, then leaving the room.

"John?" Sherlock said as John walked out of the door; but John just walked straight down the stairs.

"John!" He yelled once more as the door closed quietly behind John.


	13. Chapter 13: Out of Breath

****Chapter 13: ******Out of Breath**

John closed the front door behind him softly, ignoring Sherlocks screams. He sighed deeply as he removed his hand from the cold door handle, debating his reasons for why he continued to put up with Sherlock.

John was immediately glad he had brought his jacket, because he began to feel a slight chill run over him. A swift breeze had rolled in bringing the smell of rain along; and the dark clouds that loomed over provided further evidence that the weather was about to change. The dark sky made it look as if it were in the late evening but in fact it was barely 2 in the afternoon. John quickly put his Jacket on then made his way down the steps of 221b. He dared to peek a glance at the window, to see if Sherlock would be watching him. He turned his head quickly and looked.

_Nothing. _He thought as he looked away. A part of him was kind of hoping that Sherlock would be looking at him, that he felt guilty with driving John away, that he would bound down the stairs and run after him screaming apologies and compliments; screaming anything just to get John to come back, but alas. Nothing of the sort would ever come from Sherlock Holmes. And John knew that.

_Bloody Robot. _John thought. Then he began to wonder why he would want Sherlock to chase after him, why would he want Sherlock to fight for him.

_Well that's nothing unusual, he's my friend, he should be human enough to want me around. Although the chasing is a bit dramatic, he should at least apologize. And not his crappy apologies, a real apology. One with...emotion. God I sound like a girl._ John shook the thought from his head as he began to walk down the sidewalk and away from Baker Street.

_Now...what was that bloody dream about? Why would I ever dream about kissing Sherlock? I am not gay! I am no where near gay. I'm the straightest man I know for god sakes. So why would I conjure up something like that? _

John became lost in his own thoughts, letting his feet take him to wherever it was he was going.

_But why? Why would I dream that? Oh...its just a dream, everyone has a gay dream about their best friend eventually...right? _John wondered.

"Hey! Mr. Watson!" a voice yelled from behind. John turned to look and saw the girl from Bart's running towards him.

"Kira?" John said. He squinted at her, as she finally came to a stop in front of him, he hard breathing seeming to grow in pace.

"Mr. Watson...I...Saw the men who have been...taking the bodies...from the morgue. Someones been letting them in and letting them take the bodies. It's an...inside...job." She panted. John looked at her and saw her hair was all tangled in knots, and her skin was covered in dirt and sweat.

"Alright, and you're certain they were taking the bodies?" John asked for confirmation. She nodded her head quickly. _This means I have to go back to the flat...perfect. Oh get over yourself John, just go back listen to her story, then when she's done think of a way to leave again. _He thought. John sighed heavily before putting his arm on Kira's shoulder and leading her back toward 221b Baker Street.

* * *

><p>John led Kira up the stairs and into the flat. Sherlock was no where to be seen. John walked over and pulled the computer chair over for her to sit in.<p>

"Ok you sit there, I'll grab my writing pad and Sherlock, then you can tell us all that happened." John spoke as he held the chair out for her. She sat down quickly.

"Thanks." She smiled. _Nice kid _John thought as he smiled back.

John made his way through the kitchen and down the hallway toward Sherlock room. He didn't want Sherlock thinking him easily won over or something. In fact, John didn't want Sherlock thinking at all about John.

_Just go in, tell him there is someone who has insight on the case then leave. Simple as that, in and out. Ugh...why am I being so melodramatic. He won't care, he is to robotic to care, just tell him we've got information on the case. _John thought.

He knocked on the door.

"Sherlock?" John said. There was no answer.

"Sherlock? There's a girl here who may have some information on your Larimer person." John said, his ear now pressed against the door. He heard shuffle against the door, then it got quiet again.

"Sherlock, stop giving me silent treatment and...answer me." He said once more, his voice now becoming more of a quiet hiss. His eyes wandered back to the living room. Kira was still sitting in the computer chair, her eyes looking about the room. John smiled slightly at her, even though she didn't noticed. The sound of glass breaking brought Johns attention back to the door. He placed his hand on the door handle and turned.

"Sherlock...oh shit." John blurted.

There was Sherlock on the floor gasping for air, while a man strangled him with a white rope. John locked eyes with the struggling detective, feeling his fist squeeze with anger. Sherlock raised his arm and stretched his hand towards John for help. His face was a light shade of blue and seemed to be turning darker with every passing second.

Let him go!" He yelled as he ran toward the stranger.

Before John reached the stranger he felt himself being flung back, hearing his head hitting the ground with a loud and hard thud. There was a second stranger he hadn't seen when he entered the room, and that resulted in a throbbing, pain-filled skull. John had enough sense left to fight back while he could. He swung his arms toward the blokes face, and he made contact, but the strangers fist came slamming down on Johns stomach. The feeling he felt was terrible, it felt as if a giant rock was crushing him and he couldn't grasp his breath. He could hear himself making a hard wheezing sound, feel his chest rising heavily up and down as he attempted to get any amount of air into and out of his lungs at a normal pace. But his efforts for normal breath was thwarted when the stranger was sitting on top of him, the mans large hands wrapped around Johns throat like a snake; coiling around its victim. Johns vision began to become fuzzy, everything around him becoming darker. His hands tried to get the mans fingers from around his neck, but with every attempt the man would only squeeze tighter. John's mind couldn't concentrate on anything except for getting any oxygen into his lungs, but the less air there was, the more John panicked, and the more John panicked, the more air he needed. Everything became overly dark , and soon John felt himself giving up, the pain in his chest now seeming to fade. The need for air becoming slowly unnecessary. The need to fight, slowly leaving his body.


	14. Chapter 14: Binded by the Light

**Chapter 14: Binded by the Light**

Johns' eyes slowly creaked open from this previous state of uunconciousness.

He was met with the extrreme darkness that was Sherlocks room, then he remembered The Attack. His mind turned into that of urgency as he regained the ability to process everything that had happened. He looked around Sherlocks bedroom; the room was dark except for the light that managed to filter through the window and the furniture was thrown all over the place.

_How long has it been?_ John thought as he propped himself up onto his elbow. He looked through the window and saw that the street lights were on which meant it was late, and London was at the time of year where it didn't get dark until about eight o' clock or so. John managed to stand himself up, grunting in the process. He felt a sharp pain on his side and immeiately pulled his hand down to find what was causing the pain.

There, sticking out from his right hip, was a needle.

_What the hell..._ He thoguht as he removed it. There was nothing in the syringe but it seemed that there was at one point. He shook his head and walked toward the wall searching for a lght switch so he could get a better view of this needle.

_Where the...where are you...ah there you are_ He thought. His hand touched the light switch and soon there was light everywhere; it briefly blinded John but soon his eyes adjusted to the brightness, but the light revealed a very frighteneing sight

"Sherlock?" He said aloud. His eyes landed on a still body that was indeed his friend and colleague Sherlock Holmes. His body was seemed to be in an unconcious and drunken state, it was against the wall and his arms were flailed about the ground like he gave a struggle against whatever put him there.

"Sherlock," John reacted. He dropped the needle and ran toward his unmoving partner.

"Sherlock!" he yelled once more before he landed next to him. John pulled Sherlock into his arms quickly and looked down at him. Sherlock was a sick pale color and he showed no signs of life. He quickly placed his two fingers against the artery in his neck, panic setting in as he searched for a pulse.

_1...nothing...2...c'mon Sherlock...3...BA-BUMP_

"Oh thank god." John whispered aloud. He looked down at Sherlock and saw his chest slowly rise and fall with each breath he took; it was slow but it was there. Seeing this relaxed John, knowing Sherlock was ok and not in harms way gave him some relief. Then John began to think. He looked down and realized he was holding his best friend in a slightly intimate manner, not that there was anything intimate about this. But why did John feel ok with the idea of being this close Sherlock, Why? His mind ran around trying to figure that exact question.

_Why_?

_Why do I feel...comfortable holding him? Not that I should feel uncomfortable, he's my best friend. Jesus John get a hold of your self! You were nearly murdered in your own house again because of him and whatever he has managed to get involved in and here you are questioning everything because you're holding him_. He thought.

Then He felt Sherlock begin to stir in his arms.

"Sherlock?" John said. Sherlocks gray-blue eyes fluttered open, looking groggy and dazed.

"John?" he mumbled. John chuckled silently to himself.

"C'mon, lets get you up." he said as he propped Sherlock into a sitting position. Sherlock let out a groan of pain.

"What? What is it?" John asked worriedly. Then he saw the needle sticking out of his side. He went to pull it out when his hand met Sherlocks.

_Oh god, not another one of these moments_ He thought. But John couldn't stop himself from looking at Sherlock, and apparently Sherlock couldn't keep himself from looking at John either. The two remained locked in each other's gaze for a longer time than what either anticipated.

John began to notice features that he was not previously aware of on his flatmates face. Like how his eyes seemed to be more colors than just a gray blue, they had hints of green and gold in them as well, almost as if they were the very doors to the universe. Or how his hair, when the long enough length, seemed to cup his cheeks perfectly, or how the shape of his face was all manners of masculinity but was also soft and fragile at the same time. Or even how his hand seemed to curl perfectly into his, as if they were meant to be there. And his lips seemed to be the most perfectly shaped lips he had seen, and beaneath they hid a smile that could make anyone swoon. The lips of Sherlock Holmes semmed soft and inviting. And a part of John wished to be invited.

He found himself slowly inching forward toward Sherlock.

_John...stop _He thought.

_You don't want this... _he thought.

But soon he and Sherlocks foreheads were touching..their noses grazing one anothers...and then...thier lips had connected. And in a shattering second, John experienced a feeling he had not experienced in any aspect of his life. He couldn't begin to name it as he would only fail, he knew he would fail. But the realization of what he wa doing brought him back to reality and soon confusion replaced this unknown emotion. He saw the expression on Sherlocks face and immediately shrunk down to that of an embarassed stature. he was too afraid to move, to afraid to react further. He didn't close his eyes, he didn't move away. He just stared into Sherlocks eyes and sat in what seemed like an internity of stillness. The only thing he could hear was the fast pulse of his beating heart.

And a stiffled chuckle from behind.

* * *

><p><strong><span>A.N.<span>**

**Gosh i really hope this chapter makes up for my ridiculous absence! I have been with out internet and wifi for quite sometime, but i am back. Hope i haven't lost too many of you. I DEFINETLY want comments an reviews on this chapter. Did i do the first Johnlock kiss of this story justice? Will John be able to accept that he loves Sherlock?(Because he totally does). What do you think Sherlock is thinking? WHO IS CHUCKLING FROM BEHIND THEM?! DID ANYONE CATCH THE PUN THAT IS THE TITLE OF THIS CHAPTER?! please leave your comments below, Thank you very kindly!**

**-HADES**

**P.S. I'm back baby!**


	15. Chapter 15: La Mer

**Chapter 15: La Mer**

Johns' heart continued to beat faster and faster, filling his ears with nothing but the single sound of his pulse.

Why? He thought. That was the only thought he could muster. The infinite question of why. Why had he kissed Sherlock? Why could he not find the strength to pull away, or rather, why did he not want to pull away at all? Why did this feel ok to him? Why did he feel more than ok? All these questions continued to buzz through his head, and all but a struggling few were atually met with an answer. But John knew one thing he had to do; he had to pull away, he had to end this as quickly as possible, for fear of destroying his and Sherlocks friendship.

_C'mon John, it's simple, just pull away. Or at least move! You really don't want this, you know you don't. You're not gay! So you shouldn't be doing this. Ok...on the count of three...1...2-_

His train of thought was interrupted by the sudden feeling of hands pushing at him, and soon he was far enough away to where his and Sherlocks lips had parted. He looked down and saw Sherlocks large, pale hand pushing against his chest. Pushing him away.

John felt a twinge of pain from that, he was hurt by being pushed away.

Sherlock cleared his throat in an awkward manner.

"Mrs. Hudson please allow me to explain." he said.

"Oh no need to explain dear, my husband and I were the same way when we were younger. Couldn't keep our hands off each other when we first met." she said. John turned his head to see Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway holding two small cups in her little hands. Sherlock sighed deeply at that. But it was a sigh of frustration rather than a sigh of relief.

"Is there any particular reason as to why you're here?" He asked. Sherlok pushed Johns hand away an proceeded to remove the needle that was still attached to his side.

"Oh I just came to check on you two, after that strange group left earlier. It became a bit too quiet, even for you. You look a bit pale Sherlock are you feeling ill?" she asked worriedly.

"How long ago did they leave?" John asked, joining the conversation; feeling awkward as he did.

"Oh about two hours ago, left with a girl. Were they your clients?" she asked.

"Did you see their faces?" Sherlock asked as he rose to his feet. He gave a quick tug to his shirt, attempting to rid it of wrinkles.

"Well...not particularly. They were rushing out before I could see anything, but they were a bit tall. Almost your height if I recall. Were they clients of yours?" Mrs Hudson asked, her curiousity rising.

"About my height, or slightly below, or exact. Which is it?" Sherlock asked facing her.

"I'm not entirely sure dear, they were out so fast i couldn't tell." she said innoceently. John smiled at that. Mrs. Hudson had pretty much taken the maternal position over John and Sherlock; England would surely fall if she ever left.

"What do you mean not entirely sure? They were here, you saw them, and you can't describe anything?" Sherlock hissed.

"Sherlock." John said sternly.

"Look Mrs. Hudson, if you're going to be of any use to me, the least you can do is learn how to retain some part of memory that isn't about your failed marriage. Or are your herbal soothers to much for your inept mind to handle!" Sherlock yelled.

"Sherlock!" John yelled as he rose to his feet. Mrs. Hudson huffed and left the room all in a swift movement. John rolled his eyes.

"You know you can be a royal prick sometimes. A royal prick Sherlock." John said as he left the room after Mrs. Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson." John said. She was standing just under the stairs, looking toward the door that led to her little home that was a part of 221b Baker Street. John approached her from behind and sighed deeply. She turned to meet his gaze and smiled appreciatively

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm apologise, i don't know what's gotten into him." He began.

"It's fine dear, he's always been that way. Like a child, you know. Doesn't know how to handle certain emotions. Least of all embarassament." she said reassuringly.

"Embarassment?" John questioned.

"Well, Sherlocks always been private. So when it comes to his sexuality, it makes sense for him to lash out. Doesn't want people knowing. Which makes sense of why you two argue more. Your more social, so you want more people to know." she said.

"Mrs. Hudson. Me and Sherlock are not dating." John insisted.

"Could have fooled me dear." She said. She gave John a quick pat on the back thescuttled back behind her door.

"I am not gay. I am not gay." John repeated as he turned and walked back up the stairs.

"I am not interested in men, let alone Sherlock. I never have! There is no way that I am-"

"Gay." Sherlock said from his position in his chair.

"What?" John said, his lips closing in a confused smile. Great now he thinks you're gay. He has every reason to think that, you kissed him for cyrying out loud. Probably thinks you like him now as well. He thought.

"Stay." Sherlock repeated, pulling his hands into his usual Sherlock pose. Fingertips just under the chin. John raised an eyebrow.

"That's not what you said Sherlock." John said, becoming nervous.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock questioned.

"You didn't say 'Stay' before. You said...something else." John respnded, mumbling thte last part.

"I said stay, the first and second time, while you were blathering on about something or other." he replied as he stood.

No he didn't. He most certainly said Gay. Unless I'm hearing things. Wouldn't be shocking since i'm sowly going mental. John thought.

"You weren't planning on leaving were you?" Sherlock asked, walking toward John. His face was hard to read, not that it was easy to read the great Sherlock Holmes.

"Why would I leave?" John asked. Sherlock looked down at that statement, folding his hands behind his back as he stood still as a wall.

"Sherlock?" John asked, taking a step toward his friend.

"Sherlock...look. You're brilliant. You truly are, but you can be an arse. And its only in those moments where I will leave." John began.

"But I always come back. For some strange, insane reason I always come back." John continued.

"In those moments, do you ever not want to come back?" Sherlock quietly questioned, his eyes still on the floor

"Eveytime." John spoke. Sherlock looked up at that, is eyes filled with a hidden sadness, that John could never begin to understand.

"But then I realize I would miss this to much. The cases, Bakerstreet, Mrs. Hudson. You. And that is why I come back. Plus, who elses intellect could you insult on a day-to-day basis?" John laughed. Sherlock chuckled as well. Then they stood in a comfortable silence. Both thinking, about the urrent conversation, and both content with how things were.

"Now go and apologize to Mrs. Hudson. Maybe she'll make up a dinner for three if you are decent enough." John spoke, making a pathway for his friend.

"I think I am more than 'Decent' John" spoke Sherlock.

"Keep telling yourself that." he replied with a laugh. Their conversation was friendly, and John was happy about that, but his mind stilled lingered on the kiss. And on how Sherlock seemed to ignore it. How it seemed to mean nothing to Sherlock. But how it meant so much more John.

* * *

><p>The days continued to pass, and the case continued without success. The men who had infiltrated Bakerstreet were untraceable. Almost as if they had never existed. Three more hangings had followed, causing Lestrade to become more stressed as the incidents became more public.<p>

"How could there be no leads? Not a single damn lead anywhere. How can no one see bodies disappear in braod daylight!" Lestrade yelled, pacing the floor as he did. Sherlock sat in a chair that was closest to the window, observing thet streets of London just outside. John stood with his back against the door.

"The new girl, Kira, told me that it was an inside job." John spoke.

"She and Molly Hooper seemed to be the only people in charge of the arriving corpses, and they are both missing." Lestrade said.

"Well whose working the morgue now?" John asked.

"Some stiff by the name of George." Lestrade spoke.

"You talked to him?" Sherlock asked, his gaze still concentrated on what was beyond the window.

"We talked to everyone Sherlock. We've interrogated every nurse, doctor, long-term patient, Janitor. And no one knows anything. We have no ties or leads to anything regarding this case or Gerard Larimer." Lestrade said, pausing in his pace.

"Not to mention an added missing persons case to that. No one has seen Molly since the hangings began, and Kira is still missing." John added.

"What was his full name?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" Lestrade said, his gaze landing on Sherlock.

"George. What was his full name? Or at least his last name?" Sherlock questioned further.

"Lawerence, or something like that. Why? He was just some old stiff Sherlock. He's not an important factor Sherlock." Lestrade said. John looked at Sherlock.

What's he thinking?

"G.L." he whispered. Then he jumped out of his seat with a sudden burst of enthusiam.

"Oh, not as brilliant as he once was! One mistake. That's all i needed was one mistake, and he'd give his position away. Check-Mate!" He shouted.

"What are saying then?" Lestrade asked.

"Whenever someone changes their name, they almost always keep the same initails. To retain some part of their previous identity." John spoke aloud. Sherlock and Lestrade both looked at John, a look of shock on their faces.

"What? I read you know." John said, crossing his arms.

"Are you implying that George and Gerard are the same person?" Lestrade questioned.

"Well, it's a possibility." John said.

"If its possible i'll take it. Listen, I don't want either of you going anywhere near St. Barts. Let my people take care of it." Lestrade said, making a quick dash toward the phone on his desk. Sherlock brushed past John, his long coat trailing behind him with John close behind.

"So do you think its him?" John asked.

"I know its him." Sherlock said, pushing open the doors and turning quickly towards the exit.

"Why?" John asked.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock replied.

"Why would he risk getting caught? If he is as brilliant and dangerous as you've said, why risk getting caught?" John questioned.

"Because he is a criminal John, they all want to get caught." Sherlock said as they made their way out of the building.

"But isn't this what he would want?" John said, slowing to a halt. Sherlock stopped and turned around to look at John.

"His whole point of the hangings was to get to you wasn't it? So he would want to get caught, but more specifically, he would want you to be the person to be there when it happens." John elaborated, looking at Sherlock. Sherlock remained silent..

"But you already knew that, didn't you." John said. It was more of a statement than an actual question. Sherlock smiled at that.

"We off to Barts then?" John asked

"Where else would we possibly go?" Sherlock asked. John chuckled and soon the two were off hailing a cab, on there way towards St. Bartholomew's hospital.

* * *

><p>The funny smell had returned once more, and Molly Hooper looked at her watch, the only source of light thatwas within her dark room. 11:29am.<p>

"5 hours and 5 minutes." She coughed as she pulled her jacket to cover her mouth and nose. She could feel her self drifting off, her mind becoming fogged and dizzy.

"Please...let me out." She cried. She could barely move. If she moved barely an inch she was met with cold metal.

"Let me out." She said once more, her voice growing quieter. Her coughing grew more and more intense as the smell grew stronger. She began kicking at the walls in a state of panic.

"PLEASE! LET ME OUT!" She yelled once more. She knew her yelling was pointless. No one would hear her, no one would find her. She was going to die in this coffin, an no one would know. How many days had passed since she'd seen some form of light besides her watch? How many weeks had passed since she woke up here? Had anyone noticed her absence? More tears ran down her face and she began to grow drowzy; her attemts at staying awake failing.

"Please..." she said, her voice growing faint.

"Just...let me out..." she mumbled as she drifted off into a deep slumber.


	16. Chapter 16: Out of the Frying Pan

**Chapter 16: Out of the Frying Pan**

John and Sherlock began a game of silence upon entering the cab. John couldn't complain, he enjoyed the silence. He figured Sherlock was thinking of how they were going to execute his plan once they arrived at St. Barts, which gave John time to think about his own personal issues. Sherlock had still not confronted him about the kiss, and a part of him was grateful for, but the other wanted the issue to be dealt with. He couldn't tell if it had affected the way Sherlock thought about him and their relationship, and now wasn't really the time to question him about it. But it left him wondering.

"What?" Sherlock burted out. John looked at him curiously.

"Hmm?" John mumbled. Sherlock sighed loudly while shuffling in his seat.

"You've been making a look recently, so something is bothering you." Sherlock said, turning toward him.

"So what is it?" He asked once more. John shifted unomfortably in his seat.

"John?" Sherlock said, interrupting his train of thought.

"Hmm?" He replied, looking at Sherlock with raised eyebrows.

"You're distracted, why are you distracted?" Sherlock questioned.

"I'm just thinking..." John responded.

"About?" Sherlock asked.

"That's none of your concern." John stubbornly replied.

"Oh I think it is John. You can't avoid the unavoidable." Sherlock whispered.

"And what exacly am I avoiding?" John angrily asked. He didn't mean to become so defensive, it was the thought of discussing what had happened in this particular moment that seemed to bother him.

"Either you tell me or I tell you John, I always figure out these types of things." Sherlock replied challengingly.

"What? You're just going to deduce what I'm thinking." John was more of a statement than a question.

Just leave it Sherlock. Just leave it. He hoped Sherlock would hear his mental plea and just leave the subject alone.

"I've done it before." he said confidently.

"So what's stopping you now?" John asked in a frustrated tone. He turned his head to look at Sherlock who sat staring straight ahead, his eyes vacant and unreadable.

"Trust." he responded.

"Trust?" John said slightly confused.

"Yes. Trust." Sherlock quietly said. John proceded to laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What?" Sherlock asked, his brow scrunching together in a confusing manner.

"Trust? Sherlock I trust you with my life. You're my best friend." John said. Sherlock turned and faced John, the look of confusion dissapearing from his face completely.

"But your sudden interest in what I am thinking isn't really...you." he continued hesistantly.

"I'm always interested in what you're thinking" He quietly said. John remained silent, turning away from Sherlock to keep him from seeing his smile. Sherlock, became quiet once more, returning to his quiet state of thinking.

Successfully avoided! John mentally high fived himself. He was happy Sherlock didn't want to confront him about the kiss, it put his mind somewhat at ease to know his friend was avoiding the conversation just as much he ways. Although, in John's mind it wasn't avoiding. It was delaying. Two completely different things.

The cab began to slow as they rounded the corner into St. Barts parking lot.

"So what's the plan then?" John asked.

"I go pay a visit to our G.L. character." Sherlock said as the cab finally came to a halt.

"And me?" he wondered.

"You're going to hold the cab." Sherock said as he unbuckled his sebat belt and exiting the taxi with John following quickly behind.

"What? You're going in alone?" John asked, a bit alarmed.

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" he turned around and asked.

"You- I always go with you."

"Not this time, wait with the cab." Sherock repeated.

"Oi! You two can't just walk out on the fair!" yelled the taxi driver.

"John, stay here and hold the taxi." Sherlock repeated continuing to walk away.

"No, I'm not just going to stand here while you-."

"This is not your fight John." Sherlock turned on his heel and said. He faced John with a smile hiding just behind his lips, hidden from John as all his emotions were. Just barely breaking the surface, yet still hidden. John, with his fingers clasped around each other in two neat balls, clenching his jaw together.

Why does he not want me there? And who said anythng about their being a fight? Was Sherlock expecting one? He wondered.

"None of your other cases that involved me risking my life were my fight." He pointed out.

"What makes you think your life is at risk?" Sherlock asked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his wool jacket, his stone-like expression apearing on his face.

"Because this guy is obsessed with you, and the ones that are obsessed usualy involve me being in some near-death situation." John responded. He clenched his jaw to not only make himself look more adamant about his decision but to also stifle the laugh that was biting to come out. The thought of people being obsessed with Sherlock was a comedic thought in Johns mind.

"Well with so many dull creatures invading this planet and the few intellectual prodigies out there, we all naturally flock to one another." a voice sounded.

John looked to his left and saw an old man leaning against a black Rolls Royce phantom. His shoes seemed to echo with step he began to take, causing splashes of water to come up from the small puddles that lay before him.

"Mr. John Watson..." The man said, a smile filled curiousity appearing on his face as he started to walk toward him, closing the gap.

"How cute... I always assumed they were joking when they said you kept a pet Sherlock, but...you know what they say about assuming." he said, flashing his smile toward Sherlock. John looked at Sherlock, who seemed just as perplexed by this man as he was.

"I'm sorry do I know you?" John asked. John became immediatey uncomfortable wit the way this man was looking at hm. It was as if he were evaluating him for somethiing

"Please, Mr. Watson, if you would please return to the taxi, the driver is set to drive you to your predetermined destination." He replied bluntly, now only mere inches away from John.

"Predetermined destination?" He said questioningly.

"Yes, that is a desination that has been...predetermined. I honestly thought you would have trained your pet a bit better Mr. Holmes. Now Mr. Watson if you would please get into the vehicle that would make my job a bit easier."

"And if I don't?" John challenged, his stance changing to defensive.

"Oh you will, it is just based on the decision between force and free will. And based on my lack of patience, it is quickly coming down to a very physical conclusion." he hissed meanacingly. John winced slightly at the ferocity of this mans voice.

"John do as he says." Sherlock yelled from afar.

"Sherlock I'm not leaving you alone with this-"

"You won't be." Sherlock said hesitantly. Johns eyes switched between Sherlock and the man standing in front of him.

"Tick Tock Mr. Watson." He said with a smile. And as if gravity turned its forces against, he was siting in the back of the taxi, his eyes never leaving Sherlock.

"Don't be alarmed Mr. Watson, your safety to your location has been confirmed." he smiled as he closed the door.

"Oh yeah and what happens when i get out?" John asked. He looked at the man who answered him with a deep sigh and a smile.

"Shall we Mr. Holmes?" Was the last thing he heard escape from the old man mouth as he walked eerily toward Sherlock.

_Between the ages of 60 and 70, most likely 64. Married_. Sherlock thought.

The man proceded to walk towards him, scratching at the back of his neck.

_Not accustomed to this attire. Suit is rented not bought, for his lack o care or his shoes, covered in rain water. Not accustomed to this attire.. He was obviously bought off for a heavy price. Money? No. Blackmail. But of what? Outline of ring on inside coat pocket, but ring on finger of left hand. Wife, hostage most likely._ He quickly deduced.

"How's the wife?" Sherlock asked, turning on his heel, heading for hospital entrance once more. His eyes flicked to the side at the sound of laughter.

"They told me you do that. I must say I am impressed." Sherlock, sensing the challenge in his voice, happily continued.

"Did they tell you they would kill her if you didn't do their dirty work?" Sherlock questioned as they entered the hospital.

"My employer was never one for doing leg work. But you should know that. From what I have heard, you two have quite the history together." The man said. There wasn't a single person on the ground floor or at the receptionist desk.

3 ideas. He thought as the possibilities for the lack of people seemed to disappear.

"Elevator Mr. Holmes."The man said

Sherlock turned to his left and proceded to press the button for the doors to open.

"What year did you immigrate in?" Sherlock questioned as the doors parted.

"Oh very good! What gave it away?" He asked.

"Your accent says at least more than 10 years but you slip up every now and again." Sherlock declared stepping into the small compartment.

"What was it?" he asked once more as he slipped his hand in to press the button that had a large 'B' mprinted on it.

"Only Americans use the word elevator, we prefer lifts." he said. The man merely replied with a snake like smile, causing the words like vile and dark to come into Sherlock mind.

"Not coming along?" Sherlock questioned.

"No. Figured I'd let you to catch up. He does fancy you so I wouldn't want to rain on your parade." he replied as the doors began to close. He quickly slipped his hand in between them, delaying the operation.

"Just know Mr. Holmes, I'm going to enjoy killing your friend John. But don't worry, I'm going to make it slow, I like to take my time with my craft." he whispered. Sherlocks jaw immediately clenched.

"Also. He didn't say they would kill my wife i didn't do his dirty work." he began removing his hand from the lift.

"He said he would let her live." he smiled as the silver doors closed, his beady eyes filled with an evil that Sherlock would never wish to understand.


	17. Chapter 17: Into The Fire

**Chapter 17: Into the Fire**

John entered the cab, his mind immediately becoming uneasy.

_Who was that man?_ He wondered. _He was an older gentleman, well dressed for this time of day. _

_Maybe he was part of the British government. Working with Mycroft perhaps,_ John assumed.

John buckled his seatbelt as the cab drove onto Giltspur Street and away from St. Bartholomew's Hospital; watching Sherlock walk away with that strange man.

_Sherlock will be fine, _John said, trying to convince himself of this very fact. It failed utterly. But he knew there was nothing he could from inside a cab. He would just have to listen to Sherlock this one time. He then turned his attention to Cab driver.

"You mind telling me where we are going?" John asked the cabbie. The driver remained silent.

"Hello?" he shouted. The response was silence.

"Mycroft…" he mumbled under his breath. Assuming that the driver did indeed work for Mycroft.

"You got family, sir?" A voice sounded. John looked into the mirror suspended from the cab's ceiling and met a pair of hazel eyes.

"Excuse me?" John asked.

"Family. You got any?"

"Why is that any of your concern?" John asked.

"Because I want to know why Mr. Larimer wants you dead." The driver said stiffly. John inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening, his mouth running slightly dry.

_Dead? Why would someone I've never met want me dead?_ John's mind raced. Had he somehow angered someone?

"Who is this Larimer character?" John asked.

"Something tells me you already know the answer to that. Question is, why you?" The driver spoke as he turned onto Snow Hill ln.

"You tell me."

"Well, it's obvious, in it? You have something of his," the cabbie said.

"If it's so obvious, why ask the question?" John said as he pulled out his phone. For brief second, he could just barely hear the sound of Sherlock in his voice. He cringed slightly at that thought.

"Because I don't think you are aware of what is going on here, Mr. Watson." The cabbie continued.

John looked out the window and noticed the street: **FARRINGDON STREET.**

_Farringdon Street?_ He wondered. _Where the hell is he taking me?_

John brought up a blank message and began typing.

Sherlock, what is going on? He sent.

"Then enlighten me," John said as his eyes wandered from his phone back up to the rear view mirror. He was met with a concerned stare from the driver.

"I was told to drive you to Temple Church. Lot of history there, you know. And Mr. Larimer is a big history buff."

"You look worried for someone who wants me dead." John replied.

"I don't want you dead. Mr. Larimer on the other hand…" The drivers word drifted into inaudible territory.

John stayed silent. He had never stolen a thing in his life. He may have broken into to several different places, but that was only because of Sherlock and their cases. The cab driver sighed loudly.

"What about Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" The driver asked. John's eyes snapped back up to the mirror, although the driver was now looking at the road.

"What about him?" John replied.

"He and Larimer have a bit of history together."

"I am well aware, Sherlock told me the story." John said quickly.

"What did he tell you?"

"He told me how Larimer killed a bunch of people through a game; using Sherlock's moves to choose his victims." John replied. He couldn't understand why he was telling this man any of this.

"It's always the same story…" the driver mumbled.

_The same story? What the hell is the guy talking about?_ John wondered.

"Sherlock Holmes is a brilliant man. But he is a lazy liar. I would have expected him to be a bit livelier. Change up the story a bit." The driver spat angrily. John became immediately confused.

"What are you talking about? You talk about this as if it's happened before." John asked as he sat there.

"Of course this has happened before, it's history. And history is always meant to repeat itself." The driver said as the cab came to a halt. The car was parked just outside an ancient building.

There were walkways made of cobble stone; statues of knights and men were strewn all around this landmark, which made it beautifully archaic and medieval when surrounded by the rest of modern day London.

"Welcome to Temple Church Mr. Watson" the driver said as he exited the car.

John remembered he had been here once on a family outing. He remembered his sister complaining about all the walking they had to do that day, and he remembered his dad stating a bunch of random facts about each individual statue; and his mum being fascinated with all of the windows and how they sparkled with different colors and shades. It seems like such a recent memory to John. A draft of cold air whisked into the car as the door opened next to him.

"After you, John." The cab driver spoke.

"And why should I follow you? You going to trick me into taking a pill?" John said as he reminisced about his first case with Sherlock.

"No, but the only way to get out of here is this way. Seeing as that was a one way street we just came off of." The driver spoke. John looked back and sure enough, there was a single lane continuing around the building, almost like a gigantic turnaround.

"Shall we?" The driver said as John exited the vehicle

The doors closed quickly, the smell of cigarettes and mints gum still fresh in Sherlock's nostril; an obvious lack of dental hygiene on the savage's part. The lift began to lower, going below the lobby and into the final 3 floors of St. Barts. The lift began to slow to a halt at floor **B2. **Then the doors parted, and Sherlock's brain was locked in a state of shock.

_How? _Sherlock thought.

"Room for one more?" The person replied.

Sherlock opened his mouth then closed it quickly, at a complete loss for words as the figure stepped in, closing the distance between them.

The figure opened its mouth and spoke, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth.

"Did you miss me, Sherlock Holmes?"


	18. Chapter 18 Once Upon A Dream

**Chapter 18: Once Upon A Dream**

The patterns along the walls of the Church seemed to complement one another beautifully, causing John to become entranced by the archaic wonders of this ancient place. The sounds of young choristers seemed to fill the air, changing between beautiful chords and chilling intervals which very nearly caused him to cringe. Something seemed familiar in those chords.

The melodic tones reminded him of Sherlock's violin playing, and the way those long pale fingers seemed to glide back and forth across the strings, the music emanating a deep passion that John could only see when they were on a case together.

"Mr. Watson?" a voice interrupted.

_Was I just daydreaming about Sherlock?_ He questioned as he shook his head.

"Hmm?" John mumbled.

"I was discussing the history of the Knights Templar. They defended the Christians who journeyed to Jerusalem." The cab driver spoke.

"Yes. Sorry, what did you say your name was again?" John asked. He didn't want to hear a lecture history, he wanted to get back to Sherlock, to make sure he was OK.

"Weston sir." He responded politely. John walked up to him, the soles of his shoes seeming to echo with each quick step he took.

"Well, Weston. I was never all that interested in history, so forgive me if I don't find all of this entertaining." John spoke quickly. Weston's hazel eyes seemed to lower at this. He turned on his heel sharply, raised his arm slightly and snapped his finger loudly. Within almost a second of the snap, the singing had ceased to exist, and the few other people who had been walking around the large room all seemed to become living statues, each freezing in mid stride or sentence. Then, in less than a moment, they were all making their way toward the exit, all attempting stay about five feet away from John and Weston.

Soon that area of the Church was completely empty, minus John, Weston and a lone figure that stood way along the passageway by the cross that was mounted on the wall above.

"John. Hamish. Watson." The voice spoke as he turned round. It was the older gentleman from earlier. He had a black folder that settled neatly in his slightly aged hands.

"Born August 7th of 1975 in Aldershot, Hampshire, England. Father, Charles Altamont Watson and Mother, Jean Marie Watson. Brother to Harriet Rose Watson." The man continued. John pursed his lips together nervously.

"I always like a nice background check for my victims. Makes it more professional, which is always pleasant." He said. John could almost feel the smile the was poking at the corners of the strangers mouth, with the way he spoke. Then he realized...Victim.

"What do you mean by victim?" John questioned. His question was merely answered with a roaring laugh that seemed to echo from all around.

"I truly did expect Holmes to train you better. He did such a better job with his last pet. You're actually a bit of a let down." the man responded, his voice low and filled with an undetected evil.

"I'm not his pet dammit!" John exclaimed as his face evolved into a pink tint.

"Oh but you are. More than you know. Sherlock Holmes has used you Mr. Watson. He's been untruthful, manipulative, or as most intellectually average people would say. An ass. But like the others you let him get away with what he does, because you find him interesting. Its all quite sad really."

I don't know what the hell you're talking about, or who the hell-"

"Oh how could I be so rude, my name is Seamus Mortidoff. I will be the person who will have the pleasure of killing you." he said, a gun hidden beneath his black jacket, with John unaware.

Johns heart nearly stopped. He's going to kill me? What did I do?

"You're probably wondering why right? Well according to my client, he wishes to have all of Sherlock Holmes' victims "released" as he so called it. I was then given a note with the following names: John Watson, Molly Hooper, Martha Hudson, Mycroft Holmes, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, Greg Lestrade, and an Irene Adler. To name a few that is." the man replied as his eyes seemed to wander the room in thought.

"So those bodies? The hangings that was you?" John asked, as his eyes wandered for an escape.

"They were a project to catch Holme's attention. And it did so perfectly. But i'm sure my client is holding his attention quite well right about now." He chuckled menacingly.

"Where's Sherlock?" John asked. He almost wanted to shake his head at the fact that he was still more concerned for Sherlock than his own well-being. He locked eyes with the man, whose black, beady eyes were enticing him further into the trap that he was blind to.

The man smiled a heinous smile as he began to walk towards Weston and John.

"Funny...a complete stranger manages to acquire some information about personal details about you...and all you seem worried about is...Sherlock Holmes."

"It's not the first time that's happened." John replied hastily, his voice low. It was as if the hairs were warning him as they each began to prickle up, one by one, on his neck.

_Somethings not right...although nothing about this situation really ever was. _He managed to steal a glance at Weston whose head was slunk low, eyes filled with guilt.

"Oh, are you referring to your first encounter with Mycroft Holmes? I particularly like his trap best. He won't be as...short on time as you will, but I'm sure he'll be able to...drop by. As well as Ms. Hooper, if she isn't too trapped. Oh my, look at me being all pun like. I hope you're catching onto what I'm trying to say Mr. Watson. Please be smart enough to handle that." The man spoke as his shoes clicked across the floor, his voice growing louder and louder with each word. John nearly snorted at how ridiculous this guy sounded, but something within him made him seal his silence.

_Obviously he's done something to Molly and Mycroft. But what's he going to do to me?_ John panicked.

The mans frame seemed to enlarge with every step, getting taller and taller as he drew near. John had not, up until then, realized just how lanky this man was. If Mycroft were taller, skinnier, and had a means of killing John, then that'd be the product his eyes would bestow onto him.

"How do you know Mycroft was the person who first researched me?" John asked, taking a step back. He did not care for an answer, the only care he had was to buy himself time...time to think

"Because. I work for God, Mr. Watson." He said, as he motioned his long arms toward the ceiling. They seemed to stretch out, like talons of a large falcon. About to catch its prey.

"And since, I am a self employed man. Thy Will, be Done." he shouted. And like a bullet from a gun, John ran. He ran faster than he ever had. But the speed of sound always managed to go faster. And by the time the sound of the gunshot rang through his ears, he knew. His brain knew before his heart had time to react.

The pain was sudden...but somehow familiar...to a time from before...to the time when he saw...that lone figure fall from above...and when that stranger did not wake...and left him alone...in the darkness...which shrouded him once more.

**At Barts**

"Now Sherlock, that's no way to treat an ex fiance. Aren't you happy to see me?" Janine smiled. Her black hair was neatly pulled back into a bun, her face beautifully covered in makeup and body bested with unique jewels. Not that Sherlock made note of that, he in fact made sure to forget it.

Why her? Why her of all people? Sherlock wondered briefly.

"Join the dark side I see?" Sherlock spoke as the doors to the lift closed/

"Quoting Star Wars I see? Didn't know you were a fan." She smiled.

"I've read into it once or twice." he spoke blandly.

"I have something for you." she spoke.

"Obviously." He responded as she got closer, breaking the space between them.

"Oh do you now?" she asked, a keen wickedness in her eyes. Sherlock remained silent, responding merely with holding his hand out for her delivery.

"Ah ah ah, now Sherl', you'll have to find it." she playfully spoke. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes in response, pulling at the small black and silver clutch she held in her left hand.

"Ata boy Sherl' now you're playing the game." She responded. The lift jerked with a sudden stopping motion, then the doors parted to reveal the first level of the basement.

"Guess this is my stop, be seein' yah." she said, and then she was gone down the hallway, hips swaying back and forth in a final attempt to impress. Sherlock ignored this fact and focused on the hand held purse. Opening it to reveal a brand new iphone. Before he could react, the phone began to buzz in his hand. He quickly unlocked, his long pale fingers extending over the screen.

"Hello?" he spoke. And then an all to familiar voice spoke on the other line. The voice that has filled the very pit of his mind palace with fear and anxiety. The one thing in the past, Sherlock truly wish he could have forgotten.

"Hello Sherlock, It has been a while hasn't it...and as I recall, we were in the middle of a game last time we spoke. It tis a pity though. I thought you would have been practicing while i was away but no, you found new pets to play with, new friends to use for entertainment. Why Sherlock have you forgotten? This is chess...and I am the King of chess. Did you really think i wouldn't notice? How you sacrificed Your own rook, John Watson to save the life of Ms. Molly Hooper, who I consider to be a pawn in her own right. Tut tut my dear. In doing so, you left you're own knight, Lestrade defenseless and in the open. An easy steal for me. Which in turn, leaves you with three Pawns, one Bishop, The Queen, and you. The King. but your pawns are scattered, leaving you vulnerable to being caught out in the open by the Queen." The voice said on the other line. Sherlock tried to speak but no words came out. Nothing came out. And nothing went in, he could feel his lungs begin to shiver and quake for air, anything to relieve the pressure within.

"and don't worry. Janine is no Queen. She is far from it dear." The voice continued, as the phone fell from Sherlock's hand when he grabbed for his own throat, gasping for air that would not enter. Sherlock slowly fell to the ground, his pink lips beginning to turn blue, and his eyes bulging out slightly, looking at the lift doors as the parted once more.

"Now me..." The voice said, no longer over the phone, but now just feet away.

"I'm a Queen in my own right." Sherlock heard, as his began to fade into unconsciousness.

"And darling...you should see my King." The man spoke as Sherlock eyes finally closed.

_Gerard..._ Was Sherlock's final thought before darkness took over.

A.N.

Ok Hiatus over. Umm Sorry about thelong wait, i pulled a Moffat, although i am no where near his genius of writing skills. Reviews are always welcome. As always.

P.S. Listen to Lana Del Rays version of Once Upon a Dream while reading, that's what i wrote a majority of this while listening too. Just if you want to see what i was getting at. Next Chapter to come soon.


	19. Chapter 19: Some Day, My Pain

Chapter 19: Some Day, My Pain

Like with most Saturday mornings, London was bustling with the grumpy and hungover, and some still in the midst of their drunken stupor. The crisp April rains didn't add to all of the chaos that was central London. To the casual local, rain was nearly invisible to them; but to the foreign travelers it was wet and unbearable. So most hid in the inns and hotels they resided in.

From a small, office window, Mycroft Holmes stood watching the world below. Observing the simpletons in their natural habitat. He felt the need to sigh disapprovingly, but merely rolled his eyes; finding satisfaction in that somehow. His eyes landed on a small portrait of a man and woman standing close together, the man seemed happy enough, but the woman seemed slightly forced. Though a normal eye could not see that. He chuckled lightly at the sight of the couple. How they took pleasure in one another, and yet in a short time they would be divorced.

_I almost pity them. _He thought. He soon focused his thoughts on the body that was preparing to walk through the door.

"Any word from my brother?" he spoke, his gaze never leaving the photo. The door to the small office had swung open linear to his question; revealing a rushed-looking Greg Lestrade, who had crumbs of scones spread about his lips and shirt.

"I-What?"Lestrade, the shock obvious in his voice. His mind trying to figure out who this man with an unfolded umbrella is.

"Sherlock Holmes, my brother. Have you heard from him?"Mycroft spoke, turning toward him finally, his grip appeared rather tight around the handle of his umbrella. Lestrade sighed, a deep hard feeling hitting his chest at the mention of the name. His silence seemed to fill the room; causing Mycroft Holmes to stare intensely at him.

"I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, truly-" he began.

"My brother...have you heard from him?" He repeated. The older Holmes had aged profoundly in the two weeks that had passed. Sherlock did that to him; the worry always seemed to show the few times Mycroft and he would meet and talk.

"No. Not since the incident. He's been in that room Mr. Holmes. He won't leave." Lestrade explained. He knew he didn't have to. The Holmes brothers didn't need to have things explained to them.

Mycroft remained silent. Looking down at the ground subtly. Lestrade shuffled his feet before making his way to his desk.

"He'll be back to his normal self soon enough, it has been only been two weeks. Why is this time any different?" Lestrade said. He knew that sounded cruel but Lestrade still wasn't particularly happy with Sherlock after what happened.

"Whether or not Sherlock returns to his usual hobbies is a matter of whether or not John Watson recovers." Mycroft mentioned quietly.

"I'm sure Jon will be fine."

"John Watson is not my concern." Mycroft said sharply. Lestrade swallowed nervously as the two men stood observed one another.

"But Sherlock is?" Lestrade said sarcastically. Mycroft turned suddenly, a look of confusion forming on his face. An expression that he rarely ever used.

"Of course he is. He's my brother." Mycroft explained.

"He nearly got you killed. Nearly got all of us killed. Johns in the hospital with barely enough blood in his body to stay conscious. Mrs. Hudson hasn't stopped phoning us thinking she's being watched, and Molly hasn't said a word since the incident, he put a lot of innocent lives at risk including yours! All to play some psychopaths game." Lestrade argued.

"All of those issues are easily resolved. You complaining surely isn't going to change what happened." Mycroft said grabbing his umbrella and making for the door.

"Why did you come here?" Lestrade asked. Mycroft paused at the door. a lingering silence seeming to trade with tension.

"Why aren't you with your brother?" Lestrade questioned.

"Culpabilité." He whispered, and with that the tall mysterious man left, leaving Lestrade more confused about the Holmes brothers than before.

* * *

><p><span>2 Weeks Earlier<span>

John's stomach felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. A hot sledgehammer. He

kept his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain.

_Oh God, where am I?_ John thought. He could feel he was being confined in some small , his hands were tied above his head, he was blindfolded, and he was in pain.

"You know how I mentioned your death would be short. I think I may actually change my mind. Slow and steady always seemed the way to go." A voice murmured from beyond.

"Let me out!" John yelled. His voice seemed to echo with his plea.

"Oh! I like it when you yell. They always seem to last longer when they yell." It continued.

_OK think John. Just think._ His mind raced with solutions on how to get out. He tried wiggling about, banging on the sides of his trap. the only solution he came to was that his prison was a metal one.

"What is this?" John yelled.

"You know I am glad you asked me that. This lovely thing is ancient. The most historical thing in my possession to date. I named it Fráfall. Which is the Icelandic word for death. But its original name is the Brazen Bull." the voice said. John remained silent, his head whirring with confusion. He couldn't remember why that name sounded familiar.

"Think of it as a...slow cooker." The voice laughed. John began to panic and thrash within his metal tomb. The smell of smoke seemed more obvious than before.

"I believe the brutality of this device, is what makes it truly beautiful. The creators made it hollow not only to hold it victims, but to make their screams sound like that of a bulls. You do seem to be the centerpiece of a fantastic sculpture." The man spoke on. Ignoring John's screams. He only sat down in a cheap black folded chair and proceeded to monologue his history lesson. All whilst watching the flame beneath the metallic bull's belly burn. A joyfully evil smile forming across his face...as he watched John Watson being burned alive.

At Barts

Gerard looked at Sherlock as he slowly fell into an unconscious state, the smile fading from his face. He couldn't help but let his gaze linger on at the angelic face of his old obsession. "I loved you Sherlock. I did everything for you...i did everything you told me too. And you...you betrayed me. You left me to rot. Left me to take all the blame and do your dirty work. But not anymore. You're going to pay for everything you did. I'm going to make you feel real pain. By slowly destroying...everything you love." He spoke loudly. He then went and kneeled besides the pale genius, letting his long finger drag across his face. Brushing them through his black locks of hair, letting himself melt into Sherlock in a one-sided embrace.

"But it will end with us. As it was meant too."


End file.
